This Is It II
by we-reidentical
Summary: "This is it," murmured Fred. Part 2 of a series of fics, all entitled "This Is It".


"This is it," murmured Fred.

The loft was quiet otherwise; shadowed into silence by a looming presence that seemed to draw closer and closer. George had been frazzled all morning; like a cat whose tail had been stroked the wrong way - but upon hearing his brother utter these words, turned to address him.

Fred was lounging on their couch, a worn and torn old thing due to their elongating of it. They never much liked being apart, and that included seating when reading or creating some ingredient list for a to-be-best-seller invention. But the cheer that went into that was not currently available. It was locked away and in its place was a tense face with lines of anxiety. The curves and smiles of their faces were so unused to it. Laughing, and joy was the mould of their appearance. Not this imposter that promised dread.

"What do you mean?" Asked George tentatively; unsure if he truly wanted an answer but curiosity was a fickle thing. A fickle thing that killed the cat. Fred's gaze broke from the wall to rest on him. He shrugged, tugging at something sprouted from the couch.

"Iunno. It just feels like the end. So… this is it." Said Fred. George stood and wandered closer, taking his seat on the other side of Fred and the thing he was playing with. When he looked down, he discovered it was a spring. Was their couch really that old and abused? He hadn't noticed, nor felt the evidence beyond threadbare fabric.

"Don't say that." George paused, hooking his pinky on a spiral lower than where Fred was fiddling. "…You still haven't gone on that night out with Angelina." He tried to curb the conversation towards something lighter and enthusiastic, but Fred was in a mood. It was impossible to sway his mindset when he got like this. It's what made his determination so inspirational; when it hit he didn't back down.

True to his theory, Fred didn't chuckle. He didn't even let out a huff resembling amusement. His lips remained tight, eyes narrowed tensely; staring at nothing in particular. Like he wasn't seeing. Not smiling and not seeing. It was sick. George didn't think he could see a more disturbing look on his twin's face.

"And you still haven't shagged Verity," He drawled, taking George by surprise. There was a lightness to that voice. Something familiar, akin to something like joking but not quite there yet. He couldn't properly identify it, but he wasn't going to let it go.

"Exactly. And I have all the time in the world for that. We both do. Tons of time to treat the girls and do as we please." He leaned deeply to the side, connecting his shoulder with Fred's. They swayed together like a wave, and Fred's lips twitched at the side. "So this isn't it, Fred. Buck up."

Fred didn't move, nor did his expression.

"You wanker." Added George.

And there it was. A sharp dog-bark laugh that split his face and had his eyes shining _just like that_ and for a moment everything was alright.

And then that moment was over.

A crash came from below, and the flat shook. George toppled off balance from his awkward crouch-perch on the sofa, and hit the floor hard arse-first. Fred wobbled, but did not mimic him.

"What was that?" He asked, alert and regarding George's flattened form as if it held all the answers if he looked at him unnerved enough. George pushed himself up, getting a knee under him and leaning onto it.

"I don't know…" He trailed off as the _building_ began to rumble. They shared a worried glance, before booking it towards the door, tampling down the stairs towards the shop once they fought each other to open it. George stopped abruptly, causing Fred to crash into him so violently that they almost both joined the shelves that held their hard work on the floor. Shocked, they assessed the scene, but before they could come to a thorough conclusion, a red light blasted through the windows and into the cashier counter. It exploded, wood flying this way and that. They brought up their arms to shelter themselves from the assail, bringing them down just in time to see two streaks of black fog coming to a solid in the middle of the half destroyed shop.

Fred cursed behind him, and George had the sense to grab him and Apparate out as a green light fluttered towards them… and passed the place they had just been.

A cackle crawled through the air of Diagon Alley as the last lively shop came to a cruel end. The sign tilting the location wavered, but only two parts fell from it.

The apostrophe and 's' of _Weasley's_ clattered to the ground, leaving _Weasley_ looking awfully, painfully lonely.


End file.
